


Shredded Threads

by TiredHydra922876



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Chapter Lengths Vary, Destiny is OOC, Destiny is good mom, Error probably needs a hug, Fate is a terrible person and Destiny needs a hug, Forced god of destruction, How Do I Tag, I have tagged way too many characters, I just wanted a sad Destiny, Ink is an idiot, Inspired by Harrish6, M/M, My First Undertale Fanfic, Open communication would solve everything, Unfortunately everyone has terrible communication skills, idk - Freeform, or was the summary vague and dumb, vague and dumb summary is dumb and vague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiredHydra922876/pseuds/TiredHydra922876
Summary: Error, the Forced Destroyer of Worlds, fights relentlessly against Ink, the shamefully-soulless Creator of worlds, to prevent the total collapse of the multiverse. Both sides, blissfully unaware of the other's plights, refuse to cease in the pointless conflict. But when an outside entity puts a stop to the fight in a way no one expected, and the multiverse is thrust into danger unlike ever before, everyone must put aside their quarrels and work together to save what remains of their home.
Relationships: Dream/Ink, Nightmare/Ccino, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, sans/sans
Comments: 22
Kudos: 71





	1. Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, hi! This is my first ever fanfiction (that I've posted). I've wanted to put some of the ideas swirling about in my head to paper for a while, and since I now have an AO3 account, I can share these ideas with others! This fanfic was inspired by Harrish6's 'Healing what has been broken' and all their other works (I highly recommend them). I don't own any of the characters in this story; they all belong to their respective owners/creators! With that out of the way, I hope that you enjoy!

The Multiverse was a very strange place. There were a near countless number of ‘worlds’ that you could traverse to and from. Thousands of what the travellers of the Multiverse called ‘the Original AUs’ existed and, from those, even more were made. Some of these ‘copies’ were near exactly the same. You could jump from Outertale 47 to Outertale 48, and the only difference could be that the universe’s Grillby’s sold hotdogs for one less gold or that the cliffs overlooking the magnificent skies that many skeletons (and some in particular you wouldn’t believe) adored would be short a single pebble. But, most of the time, these copies would be the exact same, right down to the very values of paint and code that made them up.

These copies… the only thing they were there for was to take up space. And space was the one thing the Multiverse was dreadfully short on.

On the cliffs of Outertale Prime, a lone butterfly flew through the air. The sky was a bottomless sea of wonders, sprinkled in the bountiful beauty of the stars. The yellow flowers on the bluish grass, petals shaped like five pointed stars that mirrored their majestic relatives high above, swung gently in the breeze. Behind the butterfly was a small portal, barely the size of a dinner plate, hanging in the air as a colourless contrast against its surroundings. As the blue glowing insect fluttered closer to the edge, the portal vanished behind it. The butterfly landed silently just on the edge of the cliff. After a few moments of silence rippling through the soft buttery air, a sigh sounded out. The butterfly turned its tiny head to the heavens before a bright light enveloped the area.

“I think now, I understand why you love this place so much, my child.”

A figure now sat on the cliff instead of the butterfly. Humanoid, though on the taller side of human standards, they could only be described as scruffy. Mousy brown hair was roughly pulled into a messy braid, reaching down to their waist. An airy pale blue dress had its already creased fabric pulled into tiny fistfuls that the figure gripped tightly. Tired eyes were filled with liquid reflecting the lights above.

They swung their legs against the sides of the cliff face, grimacing at the loud crack sounding out as they hit the rock far too hard for it to handle and their foot was lodged in the stone. They let out a shuddering sigh, leaving the cliff as it was, before turning again to the vast multi-coloured blanket of the stars and their accompanying blackness.

“It is awful how, now, you cannot step foot in here without alerting your enemies. I am sorry.”

*The sky stares at them with solemn resignation.

*The grieving being stares back.

“…Excuse me, ma’am.”

The figure flinched, eyes darting instantly to the newcomer. Standing directly behind and close enough to reach them was a skeleton, tall with a gentle face, and clothed in dark blue, yellow and white armour. The figure could tell that the skeleton’s armour was made of high-quality fabric; they had spent enough time observing… one AU in particular to know that.

Seeing the stranger half turned around in shock of noticing him, so close to the cliff edge and deep in thought, their face stained with tears, Pluto could only assume the worst, though he remained upbeat.

“Nyeh heh heh! Greetings! Are you a human?”

The figure looked away, feeling a small pang in their chest at the words, which struck a familiar chord in their soul. “…No. I am not.”

Pluto’s wide beam drooped at the lacklustre and blankly spoken response, but he kept his hopes high. “Well, then! I am the Great Papyrus! However, you can call me Pluto, not-human!”

The figure stared blankly at the hand held out to them, blinking once, twice, three times, before they turned back to look at the sky once more. Pluto, understandably, was worried and plopped down next to the stranger.

“Not-human? May I ask you a question?”

They gave a shrug.

“…Are you okay?”

No response. They were still staring at the sky.

“Do you need someone to talk to?”

They blinked away more water and the tears carved more crevices into their cheeks.

“Is it something with your friends? Family?”

Their hands shook slightly and they tried to hide it, but the tremors were just big enough for the skeleton to notice.

“Oh, you’re cold! Here, have this!”

Before the stranger could as much as protest, a scarf was wrapped snuggly around their face. Their teary eyes were still visible and they were not stopping their waterworks anytime soon, but they looked much more comfortable.

The figure raised a hand to the scarf. Incredibly fluffy, it wrapped around them warmly in a layer of soft black and blue cloth, decorated with the glowing yellow of constellations ripped straight from the sky above. Eyes slowly moving from the bundle of warmth to the night sky of the universe, the figure found that the skeleton’s scarf was a perfect replica of the stars shining gleefully down on them.

Pluto smiled. “There! You look much better now, not-human! Hmm…” He observed them a bit closer. “You are still not well, I can tell. Oh! I know!” The armoured skeleton beamed brightly at the stranger. “I could treat you to some tea at home! You can meet my brother, Sans, too!”

The stranger lifted their head to fully face him, for the first time since he had announced his presence. However, rather than the somewhat surprised expression he had been greeted with, their features were contorted in anger, and they hissed out spitefully, “No. I refuse to go anywhere near that conniving imbecile.”

Pluto was confused to say the least. “Not-human? Have you already met my brother? And, are you sure that we’re talking about the same person? I wouldn’t describe my brother as, well, that.”

The stranger sighed. “Then you are just as blind as the rest.” They immediately returned to their moping.

The pair sat in their uncomfortable silence for a few more minutes before the skeleton spoke up again.

“Do you like the stars, not-human?”

Shifting their gaze from the sky to the other’s bony face, they tilted their head. “They look nice,” was all they said before falling silent again.

Pluto pointed to one constellation before tapping the corresponding formation of yellow fabric on his scarf, which was still wrapped around the stranger’s neck. “This constellation is-”

“Scorpio.”

The tall skeleton gazed wide-eyed at them before he tapped another bundle of stars, a small zigzagged line of light ending with a shoebox like shape. “And this one?”

The figure didn’t hesitate before answering: “Ursa Major.”

They spent a little while like that, listing all the different collections of dots in the sky. At one point, Pluto started covering up half the stars per constellation, in an attempt to trip the other up in their game, but the stranger’s knowledge remained infallible. Nearly half an hour later, when the two had finally tired of the game, Pluto spoke up again.

“Not-human?”

“What is it?”

“How do you know so much about the stars? When I asked you about them before, you didn’t sound like you loved them _that_ much.”

The stranger was silent for a few moments before they answered, wrapping the scarf around their neck again in the same position Pluto had first put it on them in. “…My child speaks of them a lot.”

Pluto’s eyes widened. “You have a child? Can I meet them?”

The stranger’s eyes hardened. “No, you can’t. They are no longer allowed to come here.”

“To this cliff? To view the stars?”

The stranger shrugged.

“…that…that’s awful… they sound like they really love it here.”

The stranger looked up to the sky. “Even if he can’t come see them himself, I can see them for him. When he is finally safe, I will tell him all about them.”

“Ma’am, is your son… in trouble?”

The stranger went dead silent for a moment before letting out a shuddering breath, closing their eyes tightly as if in pain. “… He will live… he will be alright.”

Pluto heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. They sound like a nice person.”

“Many others disagree.” They whispered under their breath, plucking up a bright starry flower near the two.

Pluto, unhearing of their comment, continued. “And you are a good parent.”

The stranger stilled. “What?”

Seeing their response, Pluto raised a browbone. “Of course, you are a good parent. You obviously care a lot about your son. You came here because you know how much he loves stars and wanted him to still experience them even if he can’t come here himself, for whatever reason that is.” Pluto smiled. “I think that you must be a wonderful mother.”

A small sniff came from the stranger. Pluto immediately panicked.

“O-oh no! Are you okay, not-human!?”

“N-no. I am okay.” The stranger turned to the skeleton, blue eyes shining with tears. Not with returning tears of misery as Pluto had thought, but, instead, of hopeful joy. “Thank you.”

Pluto blanked at the small sad smile on their face before jumping up to pose dramatically. “Nyeh heh heh! Of course, you are feeling better! You are in the presence of the Great Papyrus!” He coughed awkwardly. “I-I mean, of course, the Great Pluto.”

The stranger nodded. “Thank you, child, for your kind words. I am eternally grateful.” They, too, stood up, and bowed before the other, straightening to reveal eyes glinting with perseverance.

The armoured skeleton gave a wide grin in return, holding his pose for a few more seconds. “You’re welcome, not-human.” He offered a hand to the stranger, escorting them away from the cliff face as befit a future Royal Guardsman.

They had walked a mere few metres from their stargazing spot when a resounding crack echoed through the suddenly tense night air. The stranger flinched and tore their hand from Pluto’s grip in seconds. Pluto quickly spun around to ask them what was wrong, but no one was there. Instead of the dress-wearing not-human, a single butterfly, glowing brightly blue and like a miniature star in its own right, flapped its wings frantically. The critter rushed forward to Pluto, brushing one of its wings against his cheekbone as if giving him a parting kiss before fluttering its way through a porcelain plate of white floating in mid-air that appeared in a flash of cyan. Pluto watched in silence as the portal disappeared in a dying glimmer of light. The silence reigned over the cliff side before a lazy voice rang out.

“Hey, bro?”

Pluto sighed, turning to face his brother. “Yes, Sans?”

Cosmic, as he was known to the multiverse, was another skeleton like Pluto, but he was much shorter than his brother. Cosmic, dressed in his usual attire of blue slippers and his yellow and blue fluffy jacket, frowned at the absence of his brother’s usual peppiness. “’s something wrong, Paps?”

Walking down the path down to their home together, Pluto spoke up to answer his brother’s question. “I met a very nice lady. She came to the cliff to look at the stars for her son. He seems to be bedridden or something of the sorts, and can’t come to see them himself. She’s very knowledgeable about all the constellations on my…” Pluto trailed off, feeling his bare neck.

“Bro, where’s your scarf?” Cosmic asked, raising a browbone in questioning.

“She must have taken it with her when she left.” The taller skeleton of the two pouted at the loss of his scarf before he brightened up. “Nyeh heh heh! But that doesn’t matter! Not even this can phase the Great Papyrus!”

Cosmic’s permanent grin stretched even further up at its corners as he watched his brother regain his confidence. “You’re so cool, bro.”

Pluto beamed brightly and he snatched up his brother to give the short skeleton a ride along the streets of the city lit magically by the sky above, quickly arriving at their house barely on the outskirts of the city. “You are cool as well, brother. Besides,” after placing his brother down on his back, he continued speaking. “She definitely could use the warmth. She was shivering far too much for anyone to be healthy; why she went out with only a dress that thin is beyond me.”

Cosmic’s eyelights flashed. “Are you saying that she was…”

“Sans, no.”

“… _out of this world_?”

Pluto immediately dropped his brother off of his back. He walked forward a few more steps, up to the door of their house, and slammed it behind him.

“B-bro, wait!” Cosmic sounded on the verge of laughter.

Leaning back against the door, repelling his brother’s trademark lazy attempts at getting inside, Pluto also shut down Cosmic’s attempts at knock-knock jokes with a loud “Sans!” each time.

After a few minutes of that, a small chuckle alerted Pluto to another presence in the house. Turning around, he realized that another skeleton, very reminiscent of his brother, sat lackadaisically on the couch. The skeleton was dressed rather oddly, with clothes unfitting of someone residing in that universe. A scarf was wrapped around the newcomer’s neck with the tail ends draping down their back like two separate capes and was so absolutely gigantic that, even if Pluto still had his scarf, made the resident of Outertale feel bare by comparison. The fabric had paint stains of every colour marring its appearance, though the beige gradient that faded to white still peeked through the cracks. They wore no shoes, the only thing covering their otherwise bare feet being a pair of dark brown stockings revealing only their bony toes and heel. Tucked in overalls a slightly brighter shade of brown, a white randomly-paint-splotched sweater and brown tablet gloves with only their pinkie fingers covered in dull green were a vast contrast to their energetic sockets, eyelights changing colour and shape each time they blinked. A bright yellow star paired with a green square observed the battle between the two space-themed skeletons with amusement.

Even if Pluto had never met this particular skeleton before, from his looks, the bright smile he gave Pluto and the carefree aura he projected, he still would have guessed right.

“Hello, Ink.” The taller skeleton shifted uncomfortably. He had always been, admittedly, nervous around the one most knew as the God of Creation, the Creator of all the worlds that existed in the multiverse. Ink’s job, other than creating AUs, was to protect them. Not from internal affairs in each separate world, but instead, from outside forces. Ink was the first line of defence when it came to fighting against those who intended to hurt people in AUs on such a wide scale. For Ink to show up now meant that something was off. Pluto really hoped that Ink was just here to talk with Cosmic. Not that, even if something truly was amiss, either of them would tell him. All the alternates of Sans loved their secrets, after all. Even the sworn ‘Protector of the Multiverse’ and his own blood-and-bones brother were not exceptions from that unspoken rule of the Multiverse’s ‘democracy’.

“Hi, uh…” Ink’s eyelights shifted to a pair of mauve question marks as he quickly looked down to his scarf to scan a myriad of frantically taken notes for information. Ink, aside from his status as one of, if not the, most powerful monsters in the multiverse, was known for one thing: his absolutely atrocious memory. His scarf was not only a way for him to mix paints on the fly, using it as his permanent palette, but also served as a journal of sorts. Little scribbles of ink pens, one of the artist’s favourite mediums, covered the fabric, providing the creative skeleton with a quick method to jog his memory. Ink’s eyes had reached a rather large block of text before he sprung up to Pluto’s side. “Oh, that’s right! Your name’s Pluto! Sorry,” Ink rubbed the back of his skull sheepishly. “I have a terrible memory.”

“That’s quite alright, Ink. It can’t be helped, the same as my brother’s perpetual laziness!”

“Oh, wait, Pluto, I have to show you something!” Ink giggled childishly and tugged at Pluto’s wrist, pulling the taller skeleton out of the way of the door. Pluto consented to Ink’s attempts to move him, letting the Creator drag him along. “I did the same thing to Classic once, ages ago! I was just going through some of the journals and notebooks I left at his place and I wrote about it then!”

Pluto was worried just what Ink was plotting and made forward to ask him when Ink pressed a phalange to Pluto’s mouth to hush him, shaking his head and still beaming. The Creator of all but the original universe left Pluto where he was and tiptoed toward the door. He gently twisted the doorknob, and with a deafening screech that could probably be heard by even the humans all the way back on Earth, yanked the door open. “WAKE UP!”

Cosmic, even if the impact his back made with the ground hadn’t startled him awake, was rudely awakened from his easy-going nap against the front door by a shriek and subsequent childish laughter. Even in his dazed state, he could recognize the owner of the voice. Glaring in the direction of the prankster, he growled, “Ink. Really?”

Ink couldn’t respond even if he wanted to; he had fallen over himself in his all-consuming mirth. He made a slight attempt to apologise, but even the mere glance he got of Cosmic pouting at him like a disappointed parent made him laugh harder.

Pluto sighed, walking over to the two fallen skeletons and offering them a hand each. Ink clung to the gloved hand, giggling like a madman, while Cosmic gave the Creator a tired stare. Ink was much like a child in nearly every respect, carefree and joyous. There were a few exceptions to that general rule, but none that Pluto had seen personally, only had heard about.

Finally ceasing his in laughter, Ink attempted to stifle a few remaining giggles and let Pluto help him up. Ink grinned at Cosmic. “Oh, come on! It was funny!”

Cosmic gave the Creator a fake angry look, though he couldn’t hide the slight reminiscent smile on his face. Ink, in all honesty, reminded him of himself and his brother when they were younger and their father was still alive. Judging by the expression on his sibling’s face, Cosmic knew Pluto was thinking the same thing. Cosmic jokingly chastised Ink, in the way Gaster would have done for him and Pluto, “No, it wasn’t funny. I could have been hurt.”

Ink gave a small smile, looking somewhat nervous now. “If I had hurt you, I would have healed you right away, Cosmic. I would never want…” He trailed off, head buried slightly into his scarf. The artist reached down to his sash and pulled out a cyan vial.

That was another odd thing about Ink: his tendency to drink his art supplies. The first time Pluto had seen it, he nearly snatched the vial of glowing paint right out of Ink’s hand. Cosmic had stopped him and took him aside to explain that this was ‘normal’ for Ink. The Creator had apparently been doing it for as long as Cosmic had known him. The artist would snag a single vial from his sash covered from start to end with vials all colours of the rainbow, sometimes even in the middle of a sentence or conversation, and sip a bit from it. It was most certainly odd to see even if you were used to it. Pluto didn’t know why he had this absurd habit and it seemed no one else knew either, but as long as it didn’t harm Ink, it would be fine.

Ink sipped the smallest bit of the cyan paint before he looked back up to Cosmic with tear-drops the same colour as the vial he had drank from in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cosmic.”

Cosmic rubbed the back of his head at the puppy dog eyes Ink was giving him. “Uh, no need to worry, kid, uh, Ink,” Cosmic cursed internally at his slip of the tongue. Ink acted so much like a child at times that it was easy to forget that he was the God of Creation, the Creator of most of the universes in existence. “I’m fine.”

The artist sniffed, wiping his nasal cavity, and gave a hopeful happy smile. “I’m glad you’re okay. I would hate it if you got hurt…” Ink sniffed again and dove deeper into his scarf than before, looking away guiltily.

Pluto frowned. The Creator was acting much less upbeat than before. Something was definitely up. He just wasn’t sure what.

“Ink?” Pluto began. Ink nodded to show he was listening and Pluto continued. “Did you come to talk to my brother?”

Ink blinked for a moment before his eyelights jumped back to his signature set of a yellow star and bright blue circle. He hopped over to Cosmic’s side, beginning to pull his space-themed alternate outside for a chat. “Thanks for the reminder, Pluto! We’ll be quick, I promise!”

Cosmic gave his brother a set of lazy thumbs-up as he was dragged outside by the eccentric Creator of worlds, with Ink stopping for just a moment to snag up his over-sized paintbrush that doubled as his weapon leaning against the doorframe. “Later, bro.”

“See you later, Sans.”

Pluto dumped himself down on the couch, the faint jingle of gold trapped deep under the cushions resounding through the now empty house.

\----~*~*~----

“Have there been any signs of him, Cosmic?”

“No, there hasn’t. Not since we figured out that he comes here.”

“I’m glad. It would be a massive loss if this world was destroyed… And that’s not even mentioning the fact that it’s one of the AUs with the most copies. If Outertale Prime was destroyed…”

“And you’re sure that’s what he came here to do?”

“…”

“Ink?”

“…Of course I’m sure. It’s in his title… the Destroyer… what else _could_ he have wanted here?”

Cosmic turned up to look at the sky of his home world. Ink, following the other skeleton’s gaze, couldn’t help admiring the beautiful collage of colours he had crafted centuries ago. Despite the danger the world was in, if _his_ presence was truly for that purpose, as Ink was sure of, the stars continued to glow just as brightly.

“Destruction is all he wants…” Ink breathed out. “It’s all we can do to stop him.”

Cosmic nodded. “Yeah… We have to…”

The stars really were beautiful tonight.


	2. Intermission

It was dark and cold. Dark and cold, as usual.

There was always nothing. Just black nothingness. It was everything you’d expect from the void.

There was once many more residents of the world. Far too many to count. They were all different versions of the same people, so they all blended together. A thousand different consciousnesses amalgamated together to form a single being. The screams were awful. They blended together, like their owners, to form an unending cacophonous shriek. The screams were there before the only two sentient monsters arrived and they continued for what felt like years after.

Eventually, though, the two noticed that the screams were quieter. When they searched the void, they found only four left of the horrifically mutated creatures. One had lost all hope they had and finally moved on. They found the dust pile seconds before it dissolved in a final screech of static. That one, at least, was free.

After that, the rest of them started disappearing. The population of that forsaken void dropped from six to five. Then, four. Finally, three. When the last amalgamate began to die, they stayed by its side, despite the sound of the screams near destroying any sense of hearing they had left. Hunched over and weak, the tall last amalgamate’s death was clearly painful. Skeletal features distorted under waves of pure white glitches, a contrast to the blackness blanketing them. It was as sharp a contrast as night was to day. Not that either of them could remember what they looked like, only that they were very different.

The two were very different to the amalgam as well. Their bones and scales were the colour of the void itself, as though they had adapted to camouflage in their prison. It was not an effective evolution, though, if that was the case. The other colours that made up the rest of their bodies negated their ‘camouflage’. The amalgam, however, was pure white, featureless except for its face. Two sunken eye sockets were embedded into their face, both with painful looking cracks leading up and down from them. It was a face that one of the two never wanted to see again, and he looked away, memories poking at his non-existent brains like knives. Seeing their companion deep in thought at the pitiful sight, the other monster of the pair had clenched their fists tightly. Tired of seeing so much suffering, she thrust her glowing spear through the amalgam’s skull. They managed one last pain-ridden smile before they dissolved into grey powder. She pulled her companion out of the way before even a speck of dust landed on him. Together, they walked what felt like miles but was probably only a few meters away. The two watched the dust pile contort in on itself and vanish.

“He deserved it.” The one who had killed Gaster spoke. She was a tall fish-like monster, her black scales littered with little rectangles that flickered in and out of existence. Her armour, mostly black except for a blood red heart design on the breastplate, was cherished and well taken care of, despite the lack of any cleaning supplies in sight. The monster’s spear lit up her, her companion and the blackness around them, with a faint blue glow. She watched the faint glimmer of powder on the tip of the spear with a contemplative stare, as if she wanted to watch the monster she’d just killed die in an even more painful way. “For what he did to you and Sans. It was the death he deserved.”

“Undyne…” The fish monster’s companion began, but she waved the tail end of the spear in his face, still not wanting him near the dust. Despite that, she clenched her weapon tightly, glaring at him.

“No, Papyrus. Don’t even try to defend him,” She snarled at the tall skeleton beside her, “You told me what he did to the both of you.”

“He wasn’t there, Undyne… That one was made of different versions of h-him. Not him.” The black-boned skeleton knelt down on the void’s substitute of ground and Undyne followed his lead. “He is dead. He died a long time ago. We- Sans killed him.”

“Still…!” The fish monster grumbled, angrily plucking at the straps of her armour.

“Undyne.” She looked up at the stern tone of her friend. Papyrus hardly ever spoke with that tone, not even all that time ago when he would scold his brother over his constant puns. That seemed like a century ago. “Stop.”

Undyne fell silent at that. She ran fingers through her electric blue hair, feeling the hum of the glitched words floating lazily around her and her companion, though she could barely make them out through the equally black background of the void.

“Do you think Sans is okay?”

Undyne was quiet for a moment before she responded. “Everyone else is dead.” Alphys is dead. “He must be too.”

“Sans wouldn’t… he wouldn’t leave me…”

Undyne sighed. “Even if he is alive, he’s not here. Punk,” she stared at Papyrus right in his strangely coloured eye sockets, “There’s no way out of here. He would have been here too. Sans has to be dead.”

“He isn’t dead. I can still feel him.”

“We’ve had this conversation a million times before. Sans. Is. Dead.”

“…”

“…”

The void was as dark and cold as it always was.


	3. Cats

The cafe was as bustling as it always was and its owner was as energetic as was normal for him.

“That’ll be $15.30 for your order, miss.” The skeletal barista beamed brightly at the pair of humans he was serving, addressing the one holding out their credit card to the register. The girl swiped the card where she was directed to and smiled in return to the barista, while her companion scooped up their coffee.

“Thank you, uh…” She squinted at their name tag. “Ccino?”

“Yep, that’s me!” Cappuccino, otherwise known as Ccino, responded with a smile. “And, you’re welcome.” He nodded to the pair of humans. “I wish you and your boyfriend well.”

The two humans blushed. “O-of course,” The humans stuttered in sync, not expecting the monster to read them so well. “Thank you.” Together, hand-in-hand, they walked out of the café.

Ccino was very experienced at reading people. He always had been. That was a skill he had had since he had begun running this café. He could tell that the two were dating just from how they looked at each other. He also could tell that the two were close to the next step in their life together, if the square box in the girl’s pocket that Ccino had briefly seen when she pulled out her credit card was any indicator.

“Meow.”

Ccino glanced down at the light brush sliding past his slippered feet. “Hi, Sansy.” He knelt down behind the counter. He gently rubbed the blue and white striped cat’s chin and Sansy purred happily. “Who’s a good kitty? You are!”

Another, more aggressive, mewling echoed through the busy shop. Several of the cafe's patrons tittered nervously at what sounded more like a lion’s roar. A paw was slammed dramatically onto the counter and all the other cats in the café paused in their strutting about and turned to face their leader.

A small, admittedly adorable, white cat stood proudly atop the highest part of the counter. With a small meow, they sent their fellow cats into a rush to gather below.

Ccino sighed. “Doomfanger, get down from there.” The skeleton picked the infamous cat up from his perch on the cash register and placed him down on the floor. Doomfanger pulled a catty pout on his owner before strutting off to a group of tourists for cuddles and the obligatory adoration he got wherever he went. Ccino shook his head, turning back around to get back to work. Thankfully, he had much less on his plate to handle since he had hired some extra employees to help out. He wouldn’t have been able to afford it if it weren’t for…

The door chimed as someone else entered. Everyone in the café was put on edge immediately and turned to the door. One girl even jumped three feet in the air and spilled her latte all over herself and her friends. The customer who just entered chuckled at the argument that grew in response and, despite the worried and suspicious glares he was getting from newcomers to the café, he focused on the casual acceptance he felt coming from the coffee shop’s regulars.

This customer didn’t look anything like Ccino. While Ccino was a fairly plain looking skeleton with white eye-lights, wearing a simple sweater under a cat themed apron, this other monster was very odd looking. Though they were still a skeleton of similar height, if only the smallest bit taller, they were covered head to toe in a strange tar-like substance. Their clothes were hidden under the thick layer of muck, but they were still identifiable: a scarf, slippers, shorts and a turtleneck under an unzipped jacket. The goop, which cascaded off the dark skeleton in slow moving waves, somehow didn’t stain the mat at the entrance and stayed stuck to them. The tar overflowed in their right eye socket, and they seemed to be blind in that eye. Their other eye, though, was lit with a bright sea-green, fixed on Ccino.

They moved towards Ccino with a slender grace, slithering closer smoothly as though they were a snake. While many of the customers who had never seen this monster before were clearly on edge, looking as though they wanted to rush forward and attack them, the regulars to the café were going back to their own business and told those preparing to act to calm down. They were familiar with the new monster, and while their aura and appearance still took them by surprise, they were used to the residual coldness that arrived at the café every so often.

The gooey skeleton finally reached the barista. They smirked, leaning forward lightly over the counter. “Hello. I would like to order one Cappuccino.”

Ccino smiled. The sight of the complacent expression on the barista’s face both soothed and confused many of the newcomers to the café. The gooey skeleton didn’t seem the friendly type, not like the carefree apron-ed skeleton.

“Hi, Nightmare. It’s been a while.” Ccino moved to the coffee machine and tapped the option labelled ‘cappuccino’. “How are the boys doing?”

The tar covered skeleton’s smirk softened, gaining a proud gleam in his one visible eye. “Killer and Dust are doing rather well. Their combat skills have increased dramatically; some of their combos are a match for even Ink on a good day.”

“Mhmm.”

“Terror’s cooking is actually edible now. Although he still does have the tendency to add in an excessive amount of glitter. Horror loves to help him out…but Error hasn’t shown up for their cooking sessions together in a while…”

Ccino paused in his coffee-making to frown at Nightmare. Though he had never personally met him, Ccino still knew plenty about Error. As the opposite half of the Creator of AUs, Error destroyed universes to prevent them crashing into each other and killing countless other worlds in the process. Nightmare spoke of Error often, viewing him as a friend and ally. “Is he doing okay?”

“…I think that his workload has been keeping him busy,” The Lord of Negativity continued after a second, glancing around for any eavesdroppers, and finding none but still lowering his voice, “I would help if I could, but I can’t destroy the code of worlds like he can.”

Ccino, already knowing this, nodded. “And what about Cross?” He inquired, curious about the exploits of the gang’s newest member and noticing his omission from Nightmare’s answers thus far.

“Cross continues to excel in stealth.” Nightmare answered. “His first endeavor was a slight mishap,” the goopy skeleton smiled absentmindedly, “but he is improving.”

Ccino smiled coyly, finishing the cappuccino with a whirl of milk and no added sugar or cream, as Nightmare liked it. “Does that mean that I am out of a job?”

The other scoffed, “Of course not. Only a fool would not want you. You are an excellent wealth of information.” Nightmare took the drink the barista-dwelling skeleton offered. “That, and a good friend.” He reached a goop-soaked hand into his pocket to reach for some coins. Ccino’s own hand was placed on the bony phalanges that Nightmare had let stray onto the counter top, but the goopy skeleton did not seem to notice the appendage pressing against his own and continued to scavenge in his pocket.

Ccino snapped his fingers in the other’s face; Nightmare flinched in response and finally paid attention to Ccino. Ccino’s face softened at the confused look on Nightmare and he waved his free hand at the coffee he had just brewed. “That one is on the house, my friend.” Ccino, ignoring the peculiar feeling of the semi-liquid of the substance that made Nightmare up, led his friend’s phalanges to clench around the cappuccino. He then spun around to make a drink of his own.

Silence prevailed between the two, the continued chatter of the café serving as background music, until Ccino poured a plain latte into a cat mug found in one of the counter’s drawers, his favorite cup. He decorated the surface of the warm liquid with a series of multi-coloured marshmallows and an extra topping of whipped cream.

“Wisp!” Ccino called out from the counter, making his way out from behind it. “Hold up shop for a bit, okay?”

A small monster, floating in the air and expertly balancing two plastic cups in their tiny hands, turned around to face Ccino and the other monster, who, despite him meeting with Ccino for as long as she had worked there, she still didn’t know the name of. “Y-you got it, b-boss!” The whimsum dropped off the coffee between a pair of customers and flew off to behind the counter, taking over for Ccino.

The two friends made for one of the empty booths. Or, well, one of them did. Nightmare zipped down into a shadowy puddle of tar at his feet and flew in a quick flurry towards the booth. Several cats lounging about fled at the dark shadow that zoomed across the floor, while the braver ones, like Doomfanger, tried to pounce at it, like the Lord of Darkness was a mere cat laser. Doomfanger yelped as he were drawn into the puddle as it passed by. The two, Doomfanger and Nightmare, appeared out of the shadow covering one of the two patterned couches in the booth, the latter methodically patting the former. Doomfanger tried to fight his kidnapper off at first, but gradually settled in Nightmare’s lap, beginning to purr softly. Ccino chuckled and sat himself in the booth’s other seat.

Nightmare’s cappuccino, which had somehow, as per usual, survived the ride, was laid carefully down on the table between them after a small sip. Ccino raised a quick brow-bone at the carefulness Nightmare was taking to be quiet, rather curious as to why. Nightmare jabbed a finger in the direction of another cat, who was fast asleep on the table they had decided to sit at. Ccino smiled at the brown cat wrapped in a rainbow coloured scarf and lifted them off the table to settle them on the floor, careful not to disturb their nap.

“There you go, Oggy.”

A half-asleep mew was the only answer before Oggy nodded off again.

Nightmare laughed. It was not the kind of laugh you’d expect from the one the majority of the multiverse knew as the Lord of Negativity, the darker ‘evil’ counterpart and twin of the Guardian of Positivity, but the kind that any normal person would have. “So, I told you what I’ve been up to. How about you?”

Ccino shot up from under the table and took a long sip from his frothy latte, looking at Nightmare over the excessive amount of toppings he’d put on it. Staring at his friend, he couldn’t help but notice something. Or, rather, he had most certainly noticed it before, but had never his thoughts form.

“Things have changed a lot since we first met, huh?”

Nightmare looked confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Just… things have changed. A lot changed when we first met.” Ccino explained. “Before then, I didn’t know about the multiverse or anything outside my own little world… And then you showed up out of nowhere…”

The two of them remembered it like the backs of their hands. It had been a normal day for Ccino. Or, well, what a normal day had been for him way back when. He would spend long hours manning the café all by his lonesome. Ccino himself still didn’t know if it was because he couldn’t afford paying for extra help or if he wanted to be by himself. Perhaps it was some perverted mixture of the two, though he suspected the latter was the larger part of the cause.

Things continued like that for a while. He would wake up in the morning for another day of work, drinking a boatload of caffeine to stay motivated before heading for a few hours of light sleep, drowning in a sea of cats and coffee. Then, one day, when he was out for a trip to buy the scarce amount of unhealthy and cheap food he survived on, he was dragged into an alleyway by a tight grip on his forearm.

He could still see their faces: rough, and scarred, and absolutely _frightening_. Their expressions were so foul and terrifying that he almost didn’t see the metal rod come down. _Almost_. It was hard to miss the burning pain in his arm that came with it.

_He didn’t know how long the pain lasted, just that they beat on him for what felt like years. He didn’t even know why they choose to do it. Why him, of all people? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He almost wished the pain on someone else, anyone else… but that would have been wrong, right? Unless it was them, the people who were hurting him in the first place. They deserved to die, right?_

…And they did. They did die. Very soon after.

_The shadows had darkened in the alleyway and the exits to the main streets on either side were suddenly blocked off by walls of interwoven black tar. The sky visible through the narrow gap between buildings turned a putrid purple. All the sounds that had served as the backdrops to the sight of him slowly dusting cut off at once; the lazy chatter of the city vanished as though it had never existed in the first place._

_His assaulters paused, looking around. A chorus of questions and angry yells sounded out, and one monster marched up to the tarry wall, swinging their weapon against it to no avail. The frustrated noises of the ragtag group of humans and monsters only served to worsen Ccino’s headache. Whatever substitute he had for ears rang with a violent passion. The monster near the exit of the alley swung their weapon again, but it didn’t hit the wall that time. It was caught in what looked to be a bony hand, made of the same substance that built up the walls that kept them trapped there. The monster yelled and tried to pull away, but the hand reached out in the blink of an eye and snapped the monster’s neck with a sickening crack. The body fell to the ground and burst into a shower of dust as the hand withdrew back into the wall._

_The others shrieked, but Ccino remained silent, lying on the ground motionlessly. The only evidence that he was still alive was that he was not dust, unlike the monster just killed. His remaining attackers pushed against each other’s back in a small circle, brandishing knives or crowbars or even just their bare fists._

They weren’t any match for the one who had come to kill them.

_They all died in a single moment. A tentacle darted forward out of the darkness, stabbing and slashing at them. The lucky ones were decapitated instantly. Those less fortunate found themselves torn to shreds by black bulky tendrils that whipped in and out of the shadows. Though their deaths were still painful, it was far too quick._

_‘They deserved worse,’ Ccino thought viciously, slowly staggering to his feet in spite of his injuries._

_A dark chuckle sounded out and Ccino spun to face the newcomer, his bones groaning at how fast he moved. Standing a few feet in front of him was another skeleton, one awfully similar to him, if he were dowsed in a lake of tar. In the darkness of the alley, the other’s left eye light, the only one they had lit, was the only source of light in the murky corridor. It seemed to glow an even brighter shade of sea-green as the single eye looked over the bodies and dust piles littering the thin path, burning like fire with an emotion Ccino couldn’t place._

“… _’they all got what they deserved… all of them’_ …” Ccino sipped at his latte. “That’s what you first said, right? That’s the first thing I ever heard you say?”

Nightmare hid his own face behind his coffee cup. “…That is correct.”

“Seeing as I was just a stranger, you sounded awful emotional then.”

“…”

“And, I still don’t know why you offered me a job. Anyone else could have done it, relaying what they tell us in the meetings to you for your own uses.”

“… _You_ … you were an excellent source of negative feelings… of course I wanted to keep you around.”

“Giving me money to pay for the wages for extra help here, which helps me stress less, doesn’t help you get more negative feelings. If anything, you’re wasting time in the transaction when you could just threaten me to help instead. ‘ _A good source of negative feelings’_ you said? That stopped being true a long time ago. We both know that’s only an excuse, and a bad one at that.”

“…Just get on with the report.” Nightmare’s face was stony hard.

Ccino was silent for a moment before… “Of course.”

“…”

“I’m not going to leave you alone on this, you know.”

“ _…Get on with the report._ ”

Ccino let out a sigh. “From what I know, Ink has entirely ceased in the creation of original AUs now. He confirmed this.”

“We already know this. Before he went off the radar, Error spoke about Ink’s production rate increasing. He can’t do that with originals; copies are far easier to mass-produce.”

Ccino gave another sigh. “Other than that, nothing of note.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all they said. Everyone was wondering why the meeting was so short. Ink did tell a few people to come back for a more private meeting, though: Reaper, Colour, Classic, Stretch, Dream and everyone else in the Core Council. Cosmic, from the original Outertale, was called in too, for some reason… Do you think they’re planning something?”

Nightmare finished his cappuccino with a snarl. “They must be. I’ll send in Cross to investigate it.”

Ccino raised a brow-bone at Nightmare’s empty cup. “Are you finished?”

“Yes. We’re done here.” The tar-covered skeleton pulled a pouch from his pocket, taking the time to wipe the goo from it, even though there wasn’t any goo in on it at all, while two blunt tipped tendrils protruded from his back to gently lay Doomfanger, who had fallen asleep on his lap, on the empty space beside him.

The barista took his payment. Together, they walked out of the café. Ccino finished the remainder of his latte as they passed a sleeping employee.

“Put that in the bin and get back to work, Matt.” Ccino shoved the coffee cup into the human’s hands, startling him awake.

Once they were outside the café, they walked down the street for a while before they reached an alleyway. Heading down the narrow path, Ccino couldn’t help but notice the similarities between it and another alley he knew all too well.

“This isn’t the place where we first met, is it?”

Nightmare answered after a moment’s pause. “No, it isn’t.”

“You don’t normally leave like this, right? Usually, you just melt into the shadows of a coffee mug or something to exit the AU.”

“Call me paranoid, but the news of my brother planning something along with Ink sets me on edge.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

The two reached far enough down the alley to not risk being seen by anyone. There, Nightmare opened a portal: a wall of black goo large enough to sprint through while spinning and dancing with your arms flailing wildly.

Nightmare didn’t do that though. He walked slowly and gracefully up to the half-liquid before turning back to give Ccino one last nod.

“Be careful, alright? Stay alert. Don’t hesitate to call me for help.”

“Of course,” Ccino nodded, hand drifting to his pocket where, along with the payment for his services, a small vial was stored. The small glass tube was filled with pitch-black sludgy liquid, identical to the grime that made up Nightmare and the portal he had made. “Be careful as well, Nightmare.”

And with that, Nightmare nodded back and trudged through the sludge. The wall rippled as he came into contact with it. The Lord of Negativity vanished with the gooey muck.

Ccino breathed in a deep gulp of air and rushed out of the alley. Despite the fact that Nightmare’s mere presence seemed to make the world around a little drearier and darker, the alley felt far colder without his presence.


	4. Meeting

They were bright.

They always were.

They were rainbows, hope against the white. He tried not to focus on the white. He hated it here, in the mind-melting, all-consuming white. It pricked and dug at his skull like someone was taking a hammer to it, trying with all their might to crack it open with brute force. But, still, even if a voice deep inside him was screaming at him to leave, to get out, to run, he couldn’t. What was here, in this place, was something he needed. He couldn’t exist without it. Or, well, he could, but it was a sorrowful existence. Or, not sorrowful, because the existence wouldn’t encompass feelings.

Thinking of feelings brought his thoughts to Dream.

Dream was his ally, his companion and his closest friend. He had known the skeleton for a long time. He had technically met the Guardian of Positivity during the event that came to be known as the Apple Incident, though the two hadn’t properly gotten to ‘meet’ each other until weeks after. Emotions had been running high at the time, so it hadn’t yet crossed their minds to really introduce themselves. Of course, he knew who Dream was, but Dream, though his injuries had healed well enough, was near bedridden with the grief of his brother’s betrayal. Nightmare, the elder twin of the two, had turned on Dream, and their mutual duty to guard the Tree of Feelings by consuming all but one of her fruits. The remaining golden apple rested with Dream, while Nightmare, now the more powerful of the two, held the rest of the now dead tree’s fruit, each apple corrupted by the once Guardian of Negativity. In contrast to Dream’s burning bright rage at the loss of his real brother, the old Nightmare, who was dead and the only remaining piece of him lost to the thirst for power that the apples inspired, he could only feel ever feel forced shock and regret when his thoughts turned to the Lord of Negativity.

Each time that the two would fight together against Nightmare, he couldn’t help but remember the kind and gentle skeleton with lavender eye-lights that was supposed to have still existed. Nightmare was supposed to have lived. That was how it had gone, in his original view of Dreamtale. Dream and Nightmare were to fully realize their abilities in their endeavor to protect the Tree of Feelings and her fruit from the one-off villains that tried to steal the apples or hurt the tree, their brotherly bond would grow… they were supposed to have a happy ending.

But something went wrong. He arrived in Dreamtale, feeling something off with the code, and, fearing that Dreamtale would become a victim of _Error_ , as Underswap and Blue were, he jumped into action. He had not expected to find Dream, beaten and bloody, dust seeping from stab wounds, fighting for his life against a horrendous looking monster, whose white grin stood out like the moon covering the sun on their sludgy form. The strange monster, who somehow seemed a little familiar, rose hulking blood-stained tendrils and pointed the razor-sharp tips at Dream’s skull.

It took him a mere moment to connect the dots, noticing the battered corpses around them, and he leaped forward and grabbed Dream, pulling the two into a teleport. They had reached the Doodlesphere, him holding Dream tightly, and he turned to ask Dream what that was and where Nightmare was, but Dream had tugged at him, saying that they needed to go back, that that was Nightmare, that everyone else was going to die if they didn’t hurry.

He had gone pale at the thought that thing had been Dream’s older brother, and his eye-lights shook as he pulled them back into Dreamtale. It was then that he realized why the monster that had attacked Dream looked familiar. That attire and golden circlet with the embedded moon symbol, though covered with hideous grimy muck, were unmistakable.

Once arriving back in Dreamtale, the two of them had trudged through the dark place the world had become. It was difficult to see with the hazy blackness and the aura of despair and decay that Dream halt to throw up every few minutes, but they soon reached the place that the Tree of Feelings stood. The tree was clearly dying, hanging on to the final threads of her life. Her gnarled roots and branches that once touched the sky seemed to reach for Dream as her remaining guardian approached, bark creaking and groaning with the effort. The skeleton pet the approaching appendages, responding with little heartbroken whispers.

“ _I’m sorry… I couldn’t p-protect you or N-Nightmare…I’m so sorry_...”

It had been… sad for him to see Dream in such a state. It had been the first time since he had discovered the consequences of it that he had been tempted to overdose on any paint, cyan this time, in order to reciprocate the other’s feelings and to feel what he should have been feeling at that moment…

…

…He was getting off topic, even during his thoughts…

…He had thinking about… what was it…?

…

…Feelings?

…Yeah, that was it.

Dream, and by association Nightmare, were intertwined with emotions so deeply that both the twins’ magic were highly dependent on them. That wasn’t to say that either of the two were literal embodiments of their respective elements. Nightmare, or at least before the Apple Incident, wasn’t purely negativity, and neither was Dream pure positivity. Anyone who had seen Dream’s grief for his world and sibling and his rage towards the sludgy creature that had replaced his brother knew that Dream couldn’t only feel positive feelings. Dream had such a vast emotional range… he couldn’t help but want to feel jealous, as awful as that was.

Dream had good advice too, a lot of the time. Whenever he would mention that he sometimes heard a little voice inside of himself, like the voice that screamed for him to get out of here now, which he suspected was just his fear, Dream always gave him a little sad smile and the same words each time. “That voice that you’re hearing is your soul.” A soul, the culmination of any person’s being, holds that person’s wants and desires, their hopes and dreams. It is them, and should be treated as such: with the utmost care and compassion. And, since his soul was, for all intents and purposes, him, he should listen to himself and, as Dream put it, “go with your gut”. He always responded with a joking comment about how that wasn’t possible, and when Dream asked why each time, he would smirk back with “Because skeletons don’t have guts!”

It was an excuse, a cover-up. It was better than the truth, though. While skeletons may not have guts, they had souls. He had neither of the two.

He stared up at the rainbows, what he begrudgingly came to this ‘world’ for. They were always bright, leading lights to the only thing worth anything in this place. He walked up to them. He brushed one hand through the colourful liquid and his other hand reached to his sash. The vials latched securely to the brown sash were filled up, one by one. First the red, then orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple, magenta and finally, black. The white paint was left untouched. It always was. Its vial was filled the colour he ignored and he never used it, but it was full nonetheless.

He could feel the emptiness coming fast and strong. He uncorked each of the paints. The changing symbols and flashing colours of his eye-lights were slowly fading to white. But with a swig from each colour, with the exception of black and white and an excess of yellow, they jumped right back to normal, jumping enthusiastically from shape to shape. He sighed, beginning to re-top his paints. He drank more paint of all the colours he wanted, and, when he was done, he filled the vials up to their max capacities.

All of a sudden, he felt like something in him had spilled over, like his non-existent brain had begun leaking out the side of his skull. Something clenched in his chest, where his soul would have been if he had one. He quickly finished his work, corking up his vials and the invaluable resource they contained. He secured them back to his sash and swung his weapon against the ground, clenching his eyes to not see the white. When he relaxed them, he focused on the black ink covering the small part of the ground and not the white around it or the rising bile in his throat.

With another tight squeeze in his chest and the call in his mind to escape, he stood above the black, feeling its viscous presence between his toes. He melted right into the black, folding in on himself like some strange mixture of contorting, yoga and origami.

Even if he was a worthless creature, without soul or purpose on his own without his colours, he could still do something to make the multiverse a better place.

\----~*~*~----

The Doodlesphere was known multiverse-wide. It was the home of the Creator and served as the base of operations for the group known as the Core Council. The Core Council, a group of powerful and skilled individuals, were responsible for protecting the multiverse from the people who wished to kill or destroy the AUs and their residents. Being a set of people so knowledgeable and brave, you would expect that they would be highly professional and intelligent in their endeavors.

…

…uh.

…If you believed that, you would be irrevocably _wrong_.

“Will he get here soon?”

Dream sighed in response to the question, looking over his shoulder. “Ink will be here, Stretch. Be patient.”

The Council Hall was the location of the meetings held by, you guessed it, the Core Council. It was an elaborate thing, with detailed pillars carved straight into the walls and fancy carpets and decorations. Often times, the meetings held there would involve not just the council, but anyone who would come as they pleased, particularly (or rather only) the Sans equivalent of each universe. Those meetings would rarely consist of anything but announcements, both of future plans and the occasional awkward clapping for birthdays. This was a meeting between just the members of the Core Council. That was never a good thing, even if there wasn’t any bad news to be discussed.

Stretch of Underswap, the lankiest skeleton of the Core Council, huffed. A puff of smoke flew lazily from the cigarette in his mouth as he rolled his eyes. “He should have been the first one here. He was the one who called for this meeting. Along with this one here.” Leering, he jabbed a thumb at the shorter skeleton sitting next to him, who looked away uncomfortably.

Colour, a skeleton with a caved in skull that erupted in a brilliant rainbow flame, frowned at Stretch, “leave Cosmic alone. Ink called the meeting, not him. Cosmic’s just here because-”

“Because the glitch freak is hanging about his world! Oh no!” Stretch threw his arms in the air and Dream ran across the room to catch the bottle that the tall skeleton had thrown across the room. The Guardian of Positivity gagged at the foul stench of alcohol protruding from the bottle. “Whatever would we do if that psycho destroyed your world?! Who cares?!”

Another skeleton moved over to Dream. His bare feet, followed by the black cloak he always wore, hovered several inches off of the ground; his ability to float allowed him height over the rest of the skeletons in the room, save for Stretch. Reaper, the representative of the AU Reapertale, was one of the earliest members of the Core Council, and a trusted friend of Dream’s.

Reaper took the wine bottle from Dream, uncaring of when they brushed fingertips; Dream, as the Guardian of Positivity, was immune to Reaper’s deathly touch. The God of Death tossed the bottle over his shoulder into a portal before sighing, gesturing towards Stretch, who was still continuing his drunken tirade. “Why is he even allowed at these meetings? Aren’t the people in the Core Council supposed to be ‘the best of the best’, the ‘Defenders of the Multiverse, fighting against all odds to uphold their ideals’?”

Dream gazed despairingly at the argument that had broken out, retaking his seat with Reaper joining him. “Stretch is here because, when sober, he’s a good fighter. He’s also the representative of one of Ink’s first AUs. He’s here for the same reason me, you and Red are here.”

“Still, though,” Reaper floated high in the chair, robes and bare feet dangling in the air, and put his hands behind his skull, “he’s a drunk, paranoid old geezer. And he smokes.” The god looked down at Dream. “Doesn’t he get on your nerves?”

“I don’t have nerves for him to get on. And, besides,” Dream ignored Reaper’s hearty chuckle at the skeleton joke, and stared Death dead in the eyes, despite how unnerving his empty eye-sockets were, “Stretch has more experience dealing with Error at full power than either of us do. Ink only lets us tag along if Error isn’t going full out, when he’s working to spread negativity with Nightmare. Ink hates letting either of us so much as be in the same AU as the Destroyer when Error’s going to destroy the universe, says that he can’t risk losing us and almost always charges in all by himself. Selfless idiot,” Dream swore under his breath, quiet enough that he could barely hear himself.

“So, the drunk guy is the best fighter we got.” Reaper sighed. “We have us: Positivity and Death themselves, the Flaming Justice,” he waved a hand towards Colour, who was still futilely trying to calm Stretch down, “and the oldest version of us in the multiverse.” He pointed to a napping duo of skeletons, one in a blue jacket and the other in a black one. The first was Classic, and the other Red of Underfell. “Plus Red, who has definitely has plenty of battle experience, living in Underfell and all. But no, Stretch is the most qualified to fight the biggest threat in the multiverse?”

“You’re forgetting Ink in that equation. He’s the most qualified. But, still,” The Guardian of Positivity frowned, “I do agree that Stretch probably shouldn’t be here. His experience with Error can’t be disputed though.”

“The Destroyer broke into his world, right? One of Error’s first sightings?”

“Yeah; the very first Ink ever heard of Error was in Underswap. He tried to destroy that universe, thank Mother he didn’t. Stretch somehow fought him off, but he kidnapped Stretch’s brother and left the world like that. Ink was able to force the world to reset and Blue showed back up. I’m surprised that you didn’t know.”

“Well, it explains the carrot stick’s hatred for the Destroyer… What about Blue? Stretch’s brother?”

“I… I’m not really sure about that. Stretch basically closed off all of Underswap after Error’s attack. If his scanners pick up any trace of someone entering the world, he’s alerted and he comes to kick you straight back out. After I heard about the kidnapping for the first time, I went to meet Blue, to see if he was doing alright…” Dream scratched the back of his skull, “I didn’t even get the chance to say hi. The moment I had stepped through the portal, Stretch jumped me.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t a pleasant encounter.”

“Was he sober?”

“I think he was. He’s aggressive all the time.”

Reaper grinned. “I’m going to kick him out.”

“What!? R-Reaper, you can’t do that! Even if no one likes h-”

“I second that.” A third voice joined the conversation and the pair’s heads whipped in the direction of the speaker. Yet another skeleton, one of the ones napping before, stood before them. He lazily picked at a gold tooth as he grinned widely at them, hands in his black jacket’s pockets and red eyelights fixed on them. “No one likes that drunk sicko.”

“Red.” Dream scolded. “Even if that _is_ true,” Again, Dream ignored his friends’ laughter and shared smirks, “Stretch’s protective behaviour makes sense, in a way. If either of your brothers were abducted by the _Destroyer of Worlds_ ,” He looked between the two, who had fallen silent, “wouldn’t you want to protect them?”

The other two coughed uncomfortably. “O’ course we would.” Red mumbled. “Still, though…”

“Stretch does take it too far, I agree.” Dream nodded. “But you can’t argue with the results.”

Silence continued between the three before Reaper lazily drawled, “Shouldn’t Ink be here by now?”

Dream nodded again. “Yes, he should. He must have forgotten about the meeting, even if he _was_ the one to call for it in the first place. Alright,” Dream got up from his seat and walked over to the head of the table. “Everyone!” He called out. Classic startled from his nap, while Stretch, Cosmic and Colour paused in their argument. Reaper and Red looked over at Dream curiously.

“Whatcha doing, Dream?” Red asked.

“Ink should be here by now, but he isn’t. Thus, he must have forgotten. It would take ages to search for him manually, but I have a solution.” Dream pulled a small corked vial out of his inventory. The vial was filled with black ink, half empty. “This,” he announced to the council, “is some of Ink’s ink. With it,” he poured the remainder of the liquid onto the floor, “we can summon Ink from anywhere. All we have to do i– Oh dear god, what is that smell?!”

The rest of the council gagged. The liquid that Dream had poured out on the ground smelled absolutely putrid. The stench rolled lazily through the air, and Dream leaped far away from the puddle, still clutching the empty vial.

“What the hell? I used this before and it didn’t smell nearly _this_ bad! Wait.” The Guardian of Positivity squinted at the vial in his hand and the rest of the panicking council followed his gaze. “What is-?”

“It’s a piece of paper, Dream.”

“I know what it is, Red! Did I save your life for your commentary?”

Red finger-gunned at Dream, “Yeah, you did. You and I are best f-… Stretch, what are you doing!?”

Ignoring the antics of his comrades once more, this time being Stretch’s drunken attempts to summon Gaster Blasters to attack the spilled ink and everyone else’s attempts trying to stop him, Dream read the small slip of paper in the vial.

**“‘Dear Dream. I spiked the bottom half of the ink with the smell of that really old cheese I found in Undertale’s Ruins. Happy April Fools!’”**

“But it’s not April.” Red frowned, hanging around Stretch’s left leg in an attempt to slow him down.

Reaper, trying to push Stretch back from the puddle with the tip of his scythe, while being extremely careful not to touch him, spoke up as well. “And how did he _only_ spike the bottom half? Wouldn’t the cheese have gone through the whole thing?”

“Damn.” Classic swore in half-awe, half-amusement. He was lazily laying on his back next to Dream, the only one other than the Guardian of Positivity not helping the others. “So, that’s why he came over for a visit. He needed to get some cheese for an April Fools prank.”

Dream looked inquisitively down at the relaxed skeleton. Admittedly, he had never gotten to know the original version of Sans all that well. He was much closer to Red, who he had once saved the life of and who thus would, in Red’s own words, ‘stick with ya until I pay ya back.’ Reaper was also a good friend of his, who he could confide in in rough times. While Dream had known Classic for nearly just as long, he never interacted with him outside of meetings and couldn’t quite say that they were friends. Ink, though, seemed much closer to Classic. “Ink visited Undertale?”

“Oh, yeah!” Cosmic teleported from his position at Stretch’s right arm to Dream and Classic’s side, oblivious to Reaper, Colour and Red’s complaints. “Ink mentioned something about journals that he left at your place.” The space themed skeleton raised a brow-bone at Classic. “What’s that about?”

Classic was about to answer when Red screeched out, high-pitched, “Cosmic, get back over here; we need you! Cosmic!”

“Red, wait just a minute!” Cosmic yelled back.

“Cosmic!”

“Go on, Classic.” Cosmic and Dream turned their attention away from the indignant Red and back to Classic.

“Ink, when he first showed up, stayed at my place. He got along well with Paps, Undyne, Alphys and the kid. Tori was fond of him too.”

“Ink lived in Undertale? We didn’t know.” Cosmic and Dream looked at each other before back to Classic.

“At one point, Ink kinda… went off on his own for a while. Not really sure why. He would wave me off anytime I tried to talk about it. He came back a while later. He wasn’t doing well at all, but he hid it really well. A little bit later, he took off again, and next I heard he’d made quite a few AUs and was now known multiverse-wide as the Creator. That was sure a surprise for me.” Classic crossed his arms, still on the floor, and nodded to Cosmic. “Those notebooks Ink mentioned to you, Cosmic, those probably contain all his notes about the AUs he’s made. Ink writes down all his notes and ideas for making a world before he creates it, or at least, that’s what I assume goes on in those books from what Ink’s told me. Those books are some of his most prized possessions, and I wouldn’t want to peek my nose-hole into Ink’s personal space so I haven’t seen in any of them.”

Cosmic hummed in thought. “I wonder what he’s got in the book for my AU? Sketches of the sky? Concept art for everybody? I’d kinda like to see it.”

Dream focused on a different part of Classic’s words. “I had no idea that Ink once lived with you and your friends in Undertale. Does he stop by often?”

“Between creating AUs, going on patrols of the multiverse and doing stuff here in the Doodlesphere, yes. He hangs out with Undyne and Papyrus, reads manga with Alphys, eats Tori’s pies with Frisk, and me and him have chats sometimes. It doesn’t happen often, though.” Classic nodded at Dream. “I’m surprised that Ink never mentioned any of that to you though. He talks to me all the time about you, so I thought it would be the same vice versa.”

“I suppose.” Dream rubbed the back of his skull, feeling a slight golden hue at his cheekbones at hearing that Ink talked about him with Classic. “Then again, I guess Ink isn’t the type of person to like being tied to the past. He prefers to move forward, so I suppose it makes sense that he never mentioned it.”

Classic smiled. “Yeah. That does describe Ink rather well.”

“Cosmic! Get over here and help us!” Red screamed at the top of his lungs as Stretch summoned a blaster that flew right through the roof immediately above the talking trio.

“Oh. Uh.” Cosmic looked between Dream and Classic before he took off to help Red pin Stretch down. “I’ll be right back.”

While Reaper spouted a pair of raven black wings and flew after the loose Gaster Blaster through the hole in the roof, Colour dragged himself, Red, Cosmic and the raging Stretch to a place where the lanky skeleton could do less damage. Dream and Classic were left alone in the Council Hall.

“So,” Classic said, finally getting up and laying his hands behind his head, “that escalated quickly.”

As though the building itself had comedic timing, the roof fully caved in, covering the forms of the two skeletons in beige dust. The floor became encrusted with dust and even the walls and the security cameras attached to them were affected.

Classic sighed, brushing dust off his shoulder and Dream. “Do you ever get the feeling that the building is sentient and also hates us?”

Dream began breathing deeply in and out. Classic noticed the Guardian of Positivity’s empty eye-sockets and the expression on his face and tried to placate the other.

“H-Hey, b-buddy, D-” Classic flinched back out of pure survival instinct at the furious glare sent his way the moment he began speaking. Oh boy, Dream was _pissed_. Classic approached the situation like he would a furious animal: immediately teleporting away to out of the reach of any weapon that Dream might have that could smack him in the face. “D-Dream, calm down.”

“Calm down?! The Council Hall is destroyed! I swear, apples above, when Ink gets here-!”

“Hi, guys!” Dream and Classic both shrieked at the sudden noise and pulled out their weapons. Dream drew a yellow staff that phased into existence in a glimmer of gold, while Classic summoned a trio of blasters prepping to go off. The two blinked at the skeleton in front of them.

“Ink!” Dream immediately dropped his staff, which disappeared in another flash, and rushed up to Ink’s side, clutching the tail end of Ink’s gigantic scarf.

Classic rolled his eyes. “You were saying?”

Unhearing of Classic’s comment, Dream pressed close to Ink. “When did you get here, Ink?”

“Just now!” Ink beamed brightly at the two, before looking up to the now caved in ceiling. “Did the place get renovated or something?”

Dream winced at the mention of the damage and pouted. “Well, kinda. You see, Stretch-”

“I love the way it looks! I think we should keep it this way!”

Dream blinked before beginning to speak frantically. “R-Really? You think it looks good?”

“Yes!” Ink nodded, still beaming. “The shading that the sunlight gives the columns embedded into the walls makes the image so visually interesting, especially with the sun at this angle! I should make a sketch! Who was the one who did this anyway?”

“I did!” Dream blurted out, eye-lights sparkling and snuggling even closer to the artist. “It was all me!”

Ink grinned. “You have a great artistic eye, Dream!”

Classic snickered, drawing attention to himself. “Hey, Ink.” He greeted the Creator. “You finally got here?”

“Oh, hi, Classic! It’s great to see you!” Ink darted forward and Dream stumbled before catching up.

“Nice to see you too, Ink.”

“Finally!” A voice exclaimed from outside the hall and the three inside turned to face the direction the rough noise came from. “It took forever to catch the drunken idiot.”

“Pretty sure it took about a single minute, Red.” Another voice outside commented with amusement.

“Oh, shut your mouth or I’ll roast a couple of marshmallows over that head flame of yours with Reaper’s stick!”

The grand overarching door was slammed open as the group of skeletons who had gone to apprehend Stretch walked in, with Red coming in first. Unfortunately for the resident of Underfell, the motion of the door caused another wave of dust to fall from the remnants of the ceiling.

“I like your new look, Red!” Ink bounced over to Red to poke at the other skeleton, Dream hurriedly following behind. “It’s very… dusty. I think it looks lovely on you!”

Red slowly blinked the beige dust from his eyes and drew them upward to the open sky. “What happened to the ceiling?”

Classic’s smile grew. “We have our buddy Dream to thank for that.” He threw an arm around Dream, who yelped in surprise. “He was the one who organised the renovations.”

“Renovations?” Colour curled skinless lips, calming down from laughing at Red along with Reaper. “I’m pretty sure that the roof w-”

Reaper elbowed Colour, making sure to only touch him under the cover of fabric. “Just go with it!” He whispered, smirking all the while at Dream.

“H-Hey, guys?” All heads turned to the one who had spoken: Cosmic. Said skeleton looked at them all despairingly, struggling under the weight of carrying the unconscious Stretch all by himself. “Help?”

“O-oh! Right!” Dream reluctantly let go of Ink’s scarf and helped Cosmic hoist Stretch up through the doorway. There, they abandoned Stretch on the floor. The sleeping skeleton snuggled into the dust, looking as comfortable as Dream, who had pressed himself back against Ink’s fluffy all-consuming scarf, which had somehow avoided getting dust on it.

“Well?” Colour clapped his hands together, taking his seat at the Council table. In the background, Reaper flapped his wings to blow the dust off of Red. “Are we going to get started?”

Everyone else nodded and took their own seats.

Ink, from his seat at the head of the table, called out to the others after a deep breath. “Are we all ready?”

Everyone nodded again.

Another deep breath. “Alright, time to vote on what to do about Error. All for the plan suggested last time?”

All hands were thrown into the air. The members of the Council stared grimly at Ink.

“That’s a yes on the distraction and ambush plan?” Ink answered his own rhetorical question with a nod. He lay out the charts and graphs the Council had prepared in front of him. “Well? Let’s get started.”


	5. Hideout

Nightmare was exhausted.

He had been tired beyond belief all day. Well, it was hard to call it a ‘day’. Time was hard to keep track of in the multiverse. Even if many worlds had been completely halted in their continuous loops, whether that be due to their destruction or fall into negativity, or if the one controlling the flow of time in that particular AU had ceased in messing about with the timeline, it was still very different to judge just at what point events had occurred.

Personally speaking, Nightmare worked on keeping track of time not through ways such as ‘this event happened, say, fifty-four years ago’ but rather by comparing events through the means of ‘before’ and ‘after’. For example, he had conquered Haventale, the current locale of his gang’s hideaway, before he had met Ccino.

Ccino… That thought, of Ccino, brought his mind circling around all over again. Thinking about Ccino was exhausting in its own right, but he was generally less tired than he had been before visiting the cat-loving skeleton’s little shop on occasion, even if his workload had increased tenfold; he swore that Ccino always put in extra caffeine depending on how tired he looked anytime he came to see him, even if the barista would ever deny that. Maybe Ccino just didn’t want him to think that he was staring at him… that would make sense; after all, Nightmare could remember that the day he had officially met Ccino that, when Ccino had taken a few moments to observe the darker alternate of himself, he had snapped and threatened the other to stop. Even if he didn’t like to remember that day, he could still see the terror that had been in Ccino’s eyes when he had pulled out his sharp knife-like tendrils. Thankfully he had been able to reign in his anger and the flashing memories that appeared in his mind at that moment before the smaller skeleton was hurt.

Nightmare shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts as he continued to walk up to his hideout. Even though he could always just teleport straight into the castle, he always liked, or perhaps had just made a habit of, walking through the AU that his home was situated in. Haventale was an unfinished world, so, since he had made it his base of operations so early in its life, it had been heavily affected by his presence and magic. The dirt was pitch-black and damp, like someone had poured a gallon of water onto each individual speck, and it made a strange squelching noise with every step on it. It reminded him of the noises his sludgy form would sometimes make in the shower, as weird as that sounded. The little grass there was, tinged with a slight turquoise, brushed reassuringly against him as he made his way through it. A small squeak sounded out and he paused to make way for a line of little geckos to pass through. Most were the colour of the grass, as his magic had also affected the scarce wildlife of the world, or perhaps they had just evolved that way. One of the line moved more cautiously than the others though, their body a shade of dismal lavender, the same colour as the sky. Watching it linger behind, certainly more wary than its brethren, Nightmare understood the reason why. It stood out compared to the others in its pack, and thus it was more likely to get eaten, or maimed, or killed.

With a hesitant glance left and right just in case, Nightmare scooped up the critter and gently lowered it into his pocket. Seeing no difference between his presence and the place it called home, since Nightmare’s magic was a key component of this world, the gecko drifted off into a lazy slumber.

Nightmare’s mouth curved in a smug smile. Take that, Ccino! If the resident of FluffyTale could have cats, then he would have geckos!

…And his thoughts were on Ccino, again. Dammit.

He shook his head again and continued onwards, with the placid breathing of the little critter in his pocket coinciding with his footsteps as he neared the looming castle. The castle had served as his base for however long he’d been wondering the multiverse. It had originally been, or at least was intended by Ink to be, the castle of the universe’s version of Asgore, the centre of the monsters’ home. Normally, as was the standard for the other AUs, the king’s castle was surrounded by looming buildings forming a grand city, dubbed New Home by its inhabitants. However, Nightmare had charged in and taken the universe by force while the world was still being developed by the Creator. Nightmare, feeling the abundance of positive emotions, knew that it would only serve to power his twin, Dream. He remembered the vile feeling that had risen in his throat as he had entered the world, right under Ink’s nasal cavity, only to realize just how wrong the world was. Haventale, as far as he could figure out, was fully intended to power Dream. There was no point to its existence beyond that. The world had no creative drive in its story; it was only intended to further Ink’s _war effort_. The nauseous feeling had intensified when Nightmare met one of the AU’s newborn residents. They felt nothing _but_ positive emotions: no sadness, or anger, or fear. Even as he began his rampage through their world, decapitating one joyous monster after the other, they felt nothing but _glee_ even as he killed them. ‘What a sorrowful way to live’ he had thought at the time. That, in a sense, was ironic. If they still felt a constant, sickening elation even as he slaughtered families in front of each other, how could they feel something as negative as sorrow? How could they be anything but lifeless and empty with one half of their emotions completely foreign to them?

Even though he had killed most of them in a sort of raged daze, as most of his earlier memories were like, he had one clear recollection of the event. He remembered encountering Ink as the artist had just put the finishing touches on the world’s Undyne. When the fish monster lost her head, the Creator had gaped in disbelief at the dust covered Nightmare, his expression shifting from determined to fearful and horror-struck in a moment. So consumed in his work, the artist had not noticed the world crumbling around him. Nightmare had captured the creative skeleton between two tendrils that shifted into spearheads and drew him close. Struggling to breathe, it was all Ink could do to listen, staring wide-eyed at the corrupted skeleton.

“Artist. If you ever do this again,” the air had thickened with the choking sensation of despair and rage as the sky flashed a murky lavender once and stayed that way, while the lush gardens Ink had meticulously crafted wilted, “I will _end_ you.”

Then, the Lord of Negativity slammed the Creator of Worlds down onto the blackening dirt hard. Ink gave a horrified look to the dying world before his gaze snapped back to Nightmare as the dark skeleton let out a laugh and his trademark terrifying grin crept up his face.

“Leave, _Inky_ ,” Nightmare had purred smoothly, the growing darkness of Haventale lighting his grin with a cruel gleam, “Or I will _make_ you leave.”

Ink was quick to flee after that, leaving Haventale to its fate. The world was sorrowful at last.

Nightmare had cleared the half-sketched furniture Ink had drawn from the castle, disliking any reminder of the artist in what was his, and replaced them with bits and pieces from AUs all over the multiverse. Despite how full the place was, fully renovated and grand, it felt lonely. It was just Nightmare there, all by his lonesome. The loneliness faded the smallest bit with each visit to Ccino’s modest little café, but the castle still felt as empty as ever.

That was, of course, until Nightmare began growing his forces and, as much as he hated to admit it, found a small, very dysfunctional family of sorts.

\----~*~*~----

“Killer! Dust!” Nightmare barged through the castle’s grand doors, yelling loudly. “What are you two yelling about?!”

Cross, a black and white clothed skeleton and the newest member of Nightmare’s gang, jumped to his feet at the Lord of Negativity’s voice and his weapons blazed to life in his grip. A pair of sharp white daggers appeared in a flash of red magic as Cross’s right eye glowed the same bright colour, while his other eye was a simple white eyelight. He gripped the daggers tightly as he charged at Nightmare, jumping up and twisting mid-air before he threw one knife straight at Nightmare. Nightmare dodged easily and Cross’s momentum caused him to slam face first into the door. He slid down to the ground comically, while Killer and Dust hollered in the background.

“You’ll get him one day, Crossy!” Killer called, grin threatening to split his face in half.

Dust grinned in unison. “Yeah, what he said!” He jabbed a finger in Killer’s face.

Killer rubbed his face where Dust had poked it. “Hey, that hurt!”

Dust pushed his face against Killer’s. “Yeah? Suck it up!”

“No, you suck it up!” Killer jabbed his own phalange roughly against Dust.

“Stop it!”

“Make me!”

“Hey!” Horror peeked his cracked skull through the open doorway to the kitchen. “Keep it down there! Me and Paps are tryna’ cook!”

The two knife wielding skeletons huffed in unison. “Fine.”

Nightmare sighed and extended a tendril to Cross to help him up. “They all act like children, I swear, apples above.” The Lord of Negativity handed Cross the dagger he had tried to throw at him. “Next time, focus on getting close to the enemy rather than above them. Knife throwing is more Dust and Killer’s style. You are much better at close combat, using a combination of your daggers, blasters and teleportation. And, try to be more varied in your attacks. That was identical to last time.”

“Yeah,” Cross huffed and took his dagger back, before both his weapons disappeared in the same fashion he had spawned them in, “Thanks for the advice. And, like Killer and Dust said,” he pointed at Nightmare, “I’ll get you one day!”

The dark skeleton chuckled. “Sure you will, kid.”

“Don’t call me kid.”

Nightmare grinned at Cross before he donned a serious expression and turned to address the rest of the gang. “Boys, I have news!”

Horror and Terror made their way out of the kitchen, still wearing their cooking aprons, after finishing up. Killer and Dust packed up their knife juggling game while Cross stood at attention, standing tall before Nightmare with the rest of the gang.

Killer smirked, toying with his favourite knife hidden inside his pocket. His exposed target-like soul throbbed outside of his chest with excitement. “What’s going on, Boss?”

“Yeah!” Tugging at his hood to keep his hands busy, Dust mirrored his partner-in-crime. “What’s happening?”

The sludgy monster stalked slowly around the group, clearly deep in thought. The tentacles protruding from his back obediently followed their master. “You all know my informant, correct?”

Cross nodded, speaking up. “We know that you have one,” he looked around and everyone else nodded as well, “but, even though you’ve had them for as though as any of us have been in this gang, you’ve never told us who they are.”

“For their discretion and safety, it is best for them to remain anonymous.”

“Why are you bringing them up though, Boss?” Horror questioned, tilting his head.

“I agree with my brother.” Terror spoke up too, gesturing to Horror. “I’m curious as well. Were they found out?”

Nightmare scoffed. “No, of course not. No one would suspect someone like them.”

The nightmares exchanged glances. For as long as they had been part of the gang, their leader had had his mysterious informant. Although the group was grateful for the useful information Nightmare’s spy provided them with on the Core Council’s movements, they were extremely curious. ‘Well,’ Cross thought, ‘another small detail to add to the list: they’re unlikely to be suspected as a spy for us.’ Granted, they already knew that. Nightmare was a fantastic tactician when it came to putting those under his guidance to use and he disliked putting his allies in unnecessary danger. Confirmation by the King of Darkness himself was always useful, though.

“But,” Nightmare continued, “The information they had this time was particularly interesting. There wasn’t much to go on, but they and I both concluded the same thing. I trust both our instincts; it is possible that the Core Council are planning something very big. Ink called for an extra meeting with the usual members, and they invited Outertale Prime’s Sans too. Cosmic’s inclusion is strange. Outertale has nothing of note about it other than its abundance of copies. That, combined with this potential scheme of Ink’s… it is worrying.”

“So, what’s the plan, Boss?” Dust and Killer spun their knives in unison. “What are we gonna do about it?”

Nightmare, with his hands behind his back, sighed. “For now, I will be taking it upon myself to inform our allies of this new development. We must also address the issue surrounding Error. Cross,” Nightmare nodded to Cross, who stood even straighter, “while I would send you to gain more information directly from the Core Council, it is too risky. So, instead, it is your job to find Error; he could have information on why Cosmic has joined the meetings. It is never a bad idea to check up on him either. Remember, avoid Ink, my brother and their allies. Error might not save you this time.”

Cross saluted, a hint of colour forming on his cheekbones at the reminder of his first mission. “Of course, Boss. I won’t disappoint!”

“Get going, then.” Nightmare nodded and Cross dashed off outside to teleport away.

“What about us?” Horror asked.

Nightmare turned back to the rest of his gang. “Killer, Dust,” he nodded to the skeletons in question and the two grinned maniacally, wielding their glinting knives, “you two will be coming with me.”

“And us?” Terror looked down to Nightmare.

“You and Horror will stay here. If Error decides to show up for your cooking session or you hear anything at all, you will inform both my group and Cross.”

Horror and Terror nodded firmly and trampled their way back to the kitchen, Terror having to duck to avoid bonking his head on the doorframe. Killer and Dust stood at each side of the confident Nightmare as he opened a sludgy portal in the middle of the room.

Nightmare started forward before he paused, realizing he had had forgotten something. He zipped in the form of a small shadow up to his office before he returned minus a tiny lightly-wriggling bulge in his pocket and with a letter and parcel taped together in hand. He tossed the package through a suddenly-spawned window of grime and the portal vanished. Finally, Nightmare gestured his companions to follow him as he walked straight into the remaining portal, feeling right at home in his element. The two other skeletons both shrugged at each other before holding their nasal cavities tight and their weapons tighter as they followed their leader, ready to defend him at all costs.

If anyone was going to hurt their boss, they would have to get through _them_ first.


	6. Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, uh, just wanted to say thanks for the support I've gotten on this fic. Even though I've haven't been working on it as much as I want to (slight motivation issues, schoolwork and general life things), I've had a lot of fun writing this so far. I'm glad to see that people enjoy it. But, anyways, ONTO THE CHAPTER~!

Snowdin was known all across the underground as the coldest place in the region. How it was possible in the gigantic underground cavern they called their home, even the most knowledgeable scientists of the monsters didn’t know, but the area snowed. Small pellets of white did somersaults and intricate acrobatics as they fell down to the ground and treetops that their relatives called home. Snowdin Town was surrounded by a deep forest of pine trees. The town, in stark contrast to the snowy woods it was nestled in, was ever jolly and warm. The warmest place in the town was undoubtedly the town’s ever bustling restaurant, run by the underground’s very own Muffet.

Muffet, the owner of the bar and the one to rename it to match her own name due to popular demand, was the most business-savvy spider monster that the underground had ever seen. Although her prices were on the expensive side, and her fierce rival Grillby over in Hotland had several people dazzled by his quite literal explosion onto the culinary scene, the pink, red and burgundy dressed spider had the entire universe of Underswap singing praises for her.

As such, Muffet’s bar was constantly packed. It was inhabited by the pack of royal guards that passed by every evening to play cards, the town’s regular residents and even the occasional Flowey passing through from Flowey Village, a settlement hidden deep in the crevices of the nearby Waterfall. It was the loudest building in the town, as well as the warmest and most homely. Some even argued that Muffet deserved to be more famous than the underground’s showstopper Nabstaton, but the spider monster would always give them her signature giggle and gently rub their backs with one of her six arms as they spewed out all the alcohol in their systems.

On the surface, Muffet’s bar was the pleasant place to relax and hang out with loved ones. Deeper down, though, Muffet’s bar was home to conflicts far more sinister and worrying.

“Here you go, dear.” The she-spider placed a cup of golden-brown liquid down on the table of one of the booths. The seats, a cushy velvet red, were inhabited by only one monster – a mourning graveyard compared to the rest of the bar. Wearing a monotone sweater and dark jeans, a grey woollen beanie cast a shadow over their downcast expression. “On the house, just for you.”

The monster was silent for a moment before they responded, sounding downtrodden, as was usual for them these days. "T-thank you, Muffet.”

“You’re welcome, Blue, dearie.” Muffet smiled at her skeletal friend before she slid off to deliver drinks to the rest of her patrons.

Even so, busy as she was with the demanding nature of her customers, she kept an observant eye on Blue. She had to admit, she was worried about him. She had known the little skeleton and his younger brother Stretch, who by some miracle of whatever genetics skeleton monsters had was leagues taller than his older sibling, for years. The young Blue was selfless, looking after his sibling despite the struggles the two had encountered. Muffet had found him scrounging around in the dumpster round the back for scraps and had invited him inside for tea and biscuits. It became a habit of theirs and, eventually, once Blue trusted the spider monster, he began bringing the young toddler Stretch for the two to coo over. Later in life, Muffet loaned the skeletal brothers enough money from her profitable business to buy a house and, despite her constant reminders of it, she knew she could never bring herself to force the two to repay Blue’s tab.

So, given the history between the two, and Blue and Stretch’s mutual habit of getting into trouble, it made sense why Muffet was so worried over Blue. After serving the rest of her customers, she slid into the couch across from the skeleton. She trusted that her spidery family would take care of her shop while she continued to work on prying open the little treasure trove of secrets that was Blue.

Stretch had his secrets too, of course; everyone had at least something to hide, and even Muffet herself had some. But, while Stretch was easily ‘convinced’ to spill his can of beans with a few sips of wine, Blue’s can was not so easily toppled. For such a small skeleton, Blue could hold his liquor extraordinarily well. Even after several drinks of beer disguised skilfully on Muffet’s part as apple juice in plastic cups, Blue was still fully functional. It astounded Muffet to see it. Compared to Stretch, who was a bumbling drunk even when sober, Blue was legendary. If she wasn’t concerned with keeping Blue’s habits hidden from Stretch, she would make a drinking game out of it. She could use the extra money, anyway.

“Blue?” Muffet asked her friend, holding a level tone in the case of any eavesdroppers, which she knew was very likely.

“Yes?” Blue responded softly. Even if she was used to it at this point, a piece of Muffet’s soul couldn’t help itself from keeling over every time she heard that voice. Blue used to sound so energetic and joyous; now he was just a shadow of his former self.

She reached a hand over to the skeletal fingertips clenching the side of the table and drew Blue’s hand close. “How have you been?”

“I’ve… been well. And you?”

“The restaurant is busy as usual. And so am I.” Muffet waved a hand in the air. “You know Martinique, right?”

Blue thought about it for a moment before he returned Muffet’s gaze. “...Your cousin in the back, yeah.” Muffet smiled, though a piece of her gut twisted at Blue so readily believing the lie, and Blue continued. “What about her?”

“Well,” Muffet tapped her fingers rhythmically against the table between her and the little skeleton. “Que’s been making me work, you know. She trashes up the back room and she strings up webs in here every time I turn my back. I have to clean up before anyone sees them.”

“Why, though? ‘Before anyone sees them?’ Are you hiding something, Muffet?” Blue gave his attempt at a cheeky smile.

Muffet scoffed. Damn that twisting piece of her gut. She hated hiding things from her friend, but she had no choice in this case. “All I’m doing is keeping my income stable. This place being littered with webs wouldn’t exactly make the place more popular.”

Blue looked around the crowded bar. “I think this place is popular enough already.”

“You do have a point.” The spider monster shrugged. “But, enough about me.” She soothingly rubbed Blue’s hand, encouraging him forward. “How is Stretch?”

Blue’s more comfortable smile drooped, and his voice caved in on itself as he let out stuttering words. “H-He’s… fine, too, like me, I g-guess.”

Muffet forced a gentle smile. “Do you want some more 'apple juice', dearie?”

“Y-Yeah.” Blue nodded.

Muffet smiled again and slid back out of the booth they were occupying, heading straight for the counter to fix up some more drinks for her friend. She caught the gaze of several of her regular patrons, who had been watching her and Blue suspiciously.

‘Stretch’s drunkard informants,’ Muffet thought, discreetly glaring at them while still giving an amiable wave. They waved sloppily back, trying to keep their eyes focused enough to glare back. ‘They’re supposed to tell that bastard if Blue tries even the smallest off-handed thing, the backstabbers.’

The lot of Stretch’s drinking pals used to get along well with both Muffet and Blue. Muffet herself used to like Stretch. Every time she had looked at the lanky skeleton, she would always remember the young child she and Blue would watch over with seven observant eyes between the two of them. Now, though…

‘I couldn’t hate him more for doing this to Blue.’

She scurried back to Blue with another disguised beverage in hand, as well as one for herself. Stars knew she needed one. She had topped up the drinks of Stretch’s pals while she had waited for her spiderlings to arrive with the booze. If Muffet was lucky, they would throw up all over themselves, hopefully outside. Even if they did mess up her bar though, she’d force them to clean up the vomit themselves. She didn’t care how many customers she would lose to the smell. Anything to get their filthy gazes off of Blue.

“Here’s another one.” Muffet and Blue clinked drinks as the she-spider sat down again. “Down the hatch!” The two toppled the tsunami of alcohol down their throats.

“C-could I…” Blue began, “…have another one?”

Muffet pet Blue’s hand. “Let’s slow down for now, dear, alright?”

Blue pouted, and he let his head fall down onto the table. “Fine.”

“Dearie, you need to watch your drinking habits.” Muffet propped her head up on her hands, grinning cheekily. “Apple juice in high amounts can be as dangerous to your health as alcohol.”

“What, am I going to have a heart attack?” The skeleton let out a small smile.

“Maybe.” Muffet paused. “Have you had any contact with your friends lately?”

Blue opened his mouth to answer before a _rip_ sounded out, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. The pair of monsters turned their heads to see a small window of grime splitting open reality, hidden under the table by Blue’s legs. Muffet stood up, calling out.

“First five people to the bar get a free drink!” A myriad of spiders carted a bunch of glasses up into the vision of the entire establishment, all filled with the most expensive alcohol Muffet’s had to offer.

Among the cheers that echoed around the room and the frantic rush to the countertop, no one noticed Blue dive under the table.

By the time that everyone had returned to their seats, the majority very disappointed, Blue was already reading over the letter. He kept his expression neutral as he quickly absorbed the words, so Muffet couldn’t tell what news, if any, the note contained. He finished within seconds with a shuddering sigh, and Muffet reached out for the letter. Blue obligated and Muffet scanned her own five eyes over the elegant yet hasty handwriting.

_Blue,_

_It has been quite a while since I last contacted you, and I apologize for that. It is just that nothing occurred in this time, at least until now. I am aware of how much you mean to Error and vice versa, so I thought that you deserved to know._

_Error’s workload has increased as of late. The rate of which Ink is creating AUs is becoming very worrying. Just as worrying is the news of a potential plan being concocted by the Core Council. We are unclear of any details currently, though I would not write them here for fear of this letter being discovered, but it is my goal to learn more as soon as possible. In the meantime, I am sending Cross on the lookout for Error. I, along with Killer and Dust, also plan to inform the rest of our allies._

_I wish you well. Give Stretch a good kick in the coccyx for Error, I and the rest,_

_Sincerely, NM_

Muffet glanced back up, ready to speak, before she paused. “What is that you have there, Blue?”

Blue shifted and, clearly hesitant, pulled a small package covered in plain wrapping from the space beside him. “The letter was taped to it. It must be from N- …my pen pal as well.”

Muffet let out a laugh. Imagine that! The Lord of Negativity himself pen pals with her friend! Oh, if only Stretch could hear that. From what Muffet knew, Nightmare was a rather large nuisance for Stretch and his Core Council buddies. Anyone who was an enemy to Stretch was a friend of hers and Blue’s, even if they hadn’t met them personally and their conversations were certainly one-sided. Despite Stretch’s adamantly antagonizing description of Nightmare as a grimy sack of sewer water, Muffet had to admit that she would like to meet the personified version of Negativity himself. It would make a wonderful tale to tell her grandchildren. “Well? You best unwrap your present, dear!”

“Uh, yeah!” Blue nodded with a small smile, slowly tearing the wrapping with calculated movements. Once he got the smallest glimpse of the gift within, however, his eyes widened and his smile grew. After that, he tore through the rest of the wrapping, suddenly ravenous.

“Oh my,” Muffet breathed out, “it’s lovely.”

In the skeleton’s hands was a plushie, small enough to fit in a child’s hand. It was a perfect replica of the Blue Muffet could remember: starry eyes, bright features bathed in a sunny aura and the battle body the other had used to wear constantly before he had taken to wearing simple sweaters and jeans. It was woven intricately, with the utmost care to detail, clearly handmade by an expert in the ways of crocheting. Muffet could appreciate the skill in the doll all she wished, but Blue’s reaction took the cake, as well as all the other desserts in the bakery.

Blue sniffed, little tears resting on the edges of his eye sockets. “Oh, Error…”

Muffet reached over, and wiped the small droplets of water from her friend’s eyes. Muffet, just as she hadn’t ever met Nightmare, had never met Error, but she had heard much about him from Blue. While she was initially concerned that Blue was suffering from a sort of Stockholm syndrome after hearing that Error had kidnapped from the entire universe, once she had heard the full story, she had to admit that she understood Error’s actions. Though, the idea of someone having to destroy entire universes for the sake of the collective wellbeing of the multiverse was disturbing on multiple levels, she would like to meet Error at one point. Not that that was possible with the alarms that Stretch had set up to detect any foreign people entering the AU. Muffet stayed silent but gave Blue a reassuring smile.

Blue took in a deep breath before he drew his gaze from the plush version of himself to Muffet’s face. He gave her his own trembling smile. “I-If S-Stretch asks… it was a g-gift from you.”

The spider monster giggled. “Anything for you, my dear.” She slowly slid from the booth once more.

Blue moved to stop her from leaving but Muffet pressed a finger to her lips: a request to stay silent for a moment. She turned around from the skeleton to the rest of the bar and called out.

“Alright, the lot of you, get moving! I’m closing the shop now!”

Several of her patrons groaned. “But, Muffet, it’s early!”

“Doggo, this is the time I usually close. If you weren’t drunk, you’d think to check the time.” Muffet frowned at one of her most prolific customers, red spectacles glinting impatiently. “Now, out, all of you!”

The occupants of the bar complained, particularly the drunk ones, grumbling about the time, but they were ushered out all the same. Soon, Blue was the only one that remained.

“Shall I walk you home, Blue, my dear?” Muffet extended a set of spidery fingers in her friend’s direction.

Blue smiled. “Sure.”

Muffet locked the door of Muffet’s behind them and the two began a slow walk back to Blue and Stretch’s house. They arrived there quickly, soon standing before the two-storied snow-covered house. They slipped inside, cautious that Stretch might be there, but there was no need to worry. The couch that Stretch often called home lay empty.

Blue sighed. “Well, I guess he isn’t h-”

A crack sounded through the room and Stretch was thrown onto the couch, already unconscious. The golden-rimmed portal he had been thrown from disappeared quickly.

“Huh.” Muffet said blankly. “Seems like even the other members of the Core Council don’t like Stretch.”

“Like that’s a surprise…” Blue mumbled under his breath.

Muffet let out a hearty giggle at that. “Well, dear? I best be off.”

Blue nodded. “Yeah, and I should consider Nightmare’s request too. My brother’s coccyx is far too intact for my liking.” Blue gave Stretch’s sleeping form an appraising eye.

The spider monster giggled again. “That you should! Goodbye, Blue.” She went to open the door before she was approached by Blue, who gave her a gigantic bear hug. They wordlessly embraced for a minute before Muffet petted Blue on the head, gently prying him off, and closed the door behind her. “Goodnight, Blue. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Muffet.”

Muffet stood outside the skeleton brothers’ house. She sighed and began making her way back to the bar. She took a brisk walk, anxious to return home. She unlocked the door quickly and sprinted inside. Small giggles emerged from the door behind the counter that led to her home, connected to the bar.

“Martinique. C-Cousin?” Muffet shuffled slowly closer to the door. “Are you…okay…?”

A small giggle, suddenly from straight above Muffet, sounded out. Muffet raised her head and sighed.

“Que, please don’t decorate the ceiling with your webs. It’s a nuisance to clear it up every day before anyone sees it. Really!” Muffet turned away from the direction of the giggles and huffed. She looked down to her feet and saw something lying there. Bending down, she picked up a paper-mache flower. It had bright cyan petals and a pitch-black stem, with a purple smiley face drawn on in crayon. “And you dropped ‘Flowey’, again? You are making me do so much work, Que!”

Muffet tossed the paper-mache flower back up to the ceiling. A hand caught it mid-air. Upon catching the toy, the owner of the hand ceased their outburst, cuddling the flower close with a wide smile that spilt their darkened face in half.

Muffet sighed. “Whatever am I going to do with you…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, also, I used PeppermintFrappe's design of Underswap Muffet for this. I like it so much, I couldn't resist! https://www.deviantart.com/peppermintfrappe/art/Underswap-Muffet-606899521 
> 
> Also, um, guys, I don't know about you, but I think that Muffet - going out on a limb here - might just be hiding something. Probably not though.


End file.
